


Orange and Brown

by hystericalselcouth



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-23 05:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3756364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hystericalselcouth/pseuds/hystericalselcouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He looked at the orange and browns of the bed sheet, blinking slowly and at regular intervals. He didn't remember noticing tears fall from his eyes and gently roll down his cheeks. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything, I make no profits.

Faramir had retired to his rooms for the night.  
He didn't really like the bed, not that the bed was uncomfortable, but he didn't like beds in general. He didn't like the feeling of lying down, or helpless rest.

It had been ten years since Aragorn was crowned King. Faramir had accepted change, he had even grown to love his life, but there always was this emptiness within him. Ten years of hard work had finally paid off, the kingdom was stable and for once, everything was as Faramir would have liked it to be. Except, of course, that void which had grown to cause him a particular numbness.

He had started to slip up in his work. That morning was the first time it had been clearly noticed and talked about with the rest of the Council. The Councillors and the King had tried their best not to be rude or upsetting, but the message was clear - Faramir, the Steward of the King, had to pull his socks up.

Faramir sighed. He crossed the room and sat down at his table. He moved the papers in front of him away and cushioned his head sideways in his crossed arms . The orange light from the fire seemed to complement his mood. He knew he was failing in his duties, it was clear for all to see, but the fact that Faramir found it hard to improve _despite knowing_ how to improve was the problem here. It was almost as if he didn't want to improve, but he did want to, he really did. He found it hard to finish drafting official documents on time, he found it tough to attend court, he found it challenging to do any kind of work at all, really. But Faramir knew it was not just work. It was hard to wake up in the morning, it was hard to get dressed, it was hard to eat breakfast and walk out of his room. It was hard to look people in the eye, it was hard to talk to them, it was hard to stand and follow court procedure. It was hard to live through banquets and hunting trips, it was hard to look interested. It was particularly hard to talk to the King and Queen. When in public, formal titles and talk eased him a little, but when _Aragorn_ and _Arwen_ wished to talk to him... it got very uncomfortable.

Faramir sat with his head on the table and in his arms, and looked at the four-poster bed , the thing that was in his line of vision. His mind was blank as he sat there, still and unmoving. He looked at the orange and brown of the bed sheet, blinking slowly and at regular intervals. He didn't remember noticing tears fall from his eyes and gently roll down his cheeks. Some touched the wood of the table and others did not. Instead, they took the route that let them smooth his dry lips. He sighed.  
He made no move to wipe them. He made no move at all. He made no move to understand why he cried when he was alone, why he felt like not moving. He had simply accepted it, the same way he had accepted it when he was that tender child after a telling off from his father.  
He did not keep count of the minutes that passed that way, but he eventually closed his eyes and entered the land of slumber, just like the previous day and the day before that. Just like he would cry himself to sleep the next day and the day after that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything, I make no profits.

Faramir pulled his tunic closer around him as he walked into the courtyard. The remnants of a moderate winter clung onto the first few days of spring. He walked up to the line of people with their backs towards him. With a small smile and a nod of the head, he took his place next to his king. He stared ahead at the large wooden gated in front of him as the rest of the councilors and staff arrived after him.

Eomer, the King of Rohan and his sister, the famed Lady Eowyn were to arrive in the next couple of minutes. It had been a busy winter with preparations for the King’s fifteenth anniversary celebrations, and the arrival of various foreign dignitaries kept everyone on their toes. Faramir had been swimming in piles of work that had found its way to his room and he had just about managed to keep his head up and had finished them.

The loud flourish of trumpets shook Faramir from his musings and through the hazy mist of the morning, he saw the King and Lady of Rohan enter the first level of the City of Gondor. Eowyn and Faramir had met before in the houses of healing after the war. Their illness in turn had made them good friends, but with the political safety of the new Rohan and Gondor in shambles, they saw the importance of formality foremost. Over the years, they had had some correspondence, but that had only been for official purposes.

The King and Queen moved towards Eomer and Eowyn as the latter fluidly jumped off her horse. Elessar and Eomer beamed as they grasped each other’s arms.

“Fifteen years is too long a time, dear friend,” greeted Elessar.

“Ay, but it’s not too long a time for a merry drink, Elessar,”replied Eomer, with a twinkle in his eye. Both burst out in laughter as they mocked their formal introduction.

“It’s good to see you well, Lady Eowyn!” said the Queen as the two women embraced.

With a graceful smile, Eowyn replied, “As it is to see you, Queen Arwen.”

Faramir stepped forward to continue with the formal procedure. “King Eomer, I hope your journey was comfortable?”

“As ever, Prince Faramir,” replied the King, with a cheerful smile on his face.

“Prince Faramir, it is a pleasure to meet you after so long,” said Eowyn as she stepped forward.

“An honor, Lady Eowyn,” replied Faramir as he bowed.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be triggering, turn around now, please!

“Yes, they can be ever so cranky after a council meeting,” said Eowyn understandingly.

Arwen and Eowyn had only spent a day together and were chatting away like old friends at the evening banquet. Aragorn and Eomer carried out formal conversation at the head of the table and their consorts sat together next to them. Faramir was placed next to Eomer’s chief Advisor, Rohwyn, and did his best to be polite even though he did feel a little left out. He had hoped that with familiar faces the evening would be a bit more bearable, but nothing of the sort had happened. It had left him quite stunned, almost as though he had underestimated his relationship with the dignitaries.

 _“What was I thinking,”_ he said to himself, _“I’m a mere Steward and they are Kings and Queens. They have no need for a Steward when in company of royalty.”_

There was a loud clang of metal hitting stone next to him. After recovering from the initial shock, he bent down to pick up the goblet that one of the servants was carrying. With complete disregard of court decorum he bent down to reach for it, but only managed to move it further away and towards his feet. After swearing colourfully in his head and a bit of prodding and pushing, he eventually managed to pick up the cup. In the process of retrieving the cup, he had rumpled his hair and when he straightened back up again, he noticed Arwen and Eowyn good-naturedly giggling like two teenage friends at his antics. Smiling sheepishly, he flattened his hair and returned to stare at the food on his plate. He didn’t expect the incident to have so much of an impact on him. He had forgotten how good it felt to be a little lax and share a laugh. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel better. The sound of Eowyn’s laughter hung on the last few moments of the memory, and he found himself turning to look at Eowyn’s happy and smiling face. He suddenly found her golden hair, tied up in a large bun to be quite interesting. His gaze moved towards her pink cheeks and then to her beautifully shaped eyes. However, something cold passed through him and he felt sorrow and darkness fill his chest. He returned to pushing the meat around his plate.

* * *

 

 

The elven delegation was to arrive that morning. Faramir, Aragorn and Arwen rode down to the gates of Gondor to welcome them. The sun was out and once again, people lined the streets with excitement to see the new guests of their city. Aragorn had ruled well and had rebuilt the city in a manner which now made it hard to tell who’s city was more majestic, his or his forefathers’. The people were happy and content and the kingdom was stable. All was right with the world. But Faramir still had that darkness within him which had not left him after Sauron’s fall. The world may be right, but in every house there still remained irremovable shadows. The trumpets sounded and the first to come were Aragorn’s foster brothers, the dark haired Lords, Elledan and Elrohir. After Aragorn’s coronation, the brothers had helped the new king rebuild his city along with the Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas, Gimli and Eomer, who too was rebuilding his own kingdom. Faramir and the Perehedil brothers worked together many times in those ten, hard years. The elves had hoped to warm up to Faramir a bit more, but as he usually did, Faramir shut them out. Nonetheless, the twins were always good natured and were more than willing to help the new Steward.

After the family reunion, Faramir stepped forward to greet them.

 “Lord Elledan, Lord Elrohir,” bowed Faramir, “I hope your journey was pleasant?”

“As pleasant as the shining sun and the sight of our sister in the fountain, screaming, aged one hundred and thirty one,” replied Elrohir with a mischievous grin.

Faramir couldn’t help but chuckle. It was on occasions like this when he learnt of the twins’ infamous tricks. Arwen nudged her brother in the chest with a roll of her eyes.

Another flourish of trumpets made the gathering straighten their tunics and line up. The delegation from Mirkwood marched haughtily through the gates, led by their King and Crown Prince. This was the second time Faramir had seen Legolas in full ceremonial costume and was in as much awe of him now as he was in the first time. Legolas’s accepted informality with the Gondorian household made it hard for Faramir to remember that Legolas was, indeed, a Prince.

However, nothing prepared Faramir for the sight which he was to see next. For the first time in his entire life, Faramir beheld the King of Eryn Lasgalen. Ay, for Mirkwood had turned green again and Greenwood was returned to its full splendour.

Aran Thranduil sat on his steed, mighty and proud. He was more majestic than the descriptions of him. His pale, stone-cold demeanour was intimidating, yet truly awesome and on his head was perched a crown of berries. Faramir did not notice when Thranduil got off his elk, but when he did, soft robes highlighted the tall frame when they fell from the graceful shoulders.

Faramir was not the only one in awe, most of the Perehedil entourage and Gondorian welcome party were in a suspended animation of wonder. Aragorn seemed less paralysed and quickly recovered when Thranduil walked towards him. After the formal greetings between the royal families, most of the staff stepped back, as though unwilling to face the Elven King. Faramir gathered every last shard of courage within him and stepped forward to greet the King. Much to his surprise, Thranduil spoke first.

“You must be Prince Faramir, Steward of Gondor.”

“Yes, your Majesty. I trust your journey was comfortable?”

All Thranduil did was smile in reply, his deep blue eyes and marble features moving only slightly to form the expression. Faramir’s legs went wobbly and it took him everything he had to not collapse then and there.

* * *

 

The banquet for the elves was very different from the usual dinners held at the palace. Along with the familiar Gondorian delicacies, Sindar and Silvan treats were spread out on the table. The food was enjoyable, but Faramir found the Elven dishes a bit bland.

He had chosen to wear heavy, if not ornate robes for the evening. He had found the day growing cold and now thanked his intuition. He couldn’t help but feel a little bored while everyone danced. The fusion of Elvish and Gondorian festivity was new, and everyone was enjoying themselves.

He found it getting warm and stuffy inside, so with a glass in hand, he turned around and opened one of the doors behind him. The cold air nipped at his cheeks and he tugged at his outer robe. Closing the door behind him, he peered into the dark vegetation below. Sighing, he shifted his gaze to the thousands of houses and streets lit up, vanishing into the horizon. He smiled at the thought of Gondorians making the most of their free time with family and friends. He smiled at the realisation that the very same was happening inside the great halls behind him – Arwen, Elledan, Elrohir, Aragorn, little Eldarion, Legolas, Eomer, ……new family, new friends, new lives.

The clicking of the door opening made him spin around and all his senses were on alert. When he registered the face, he calmed down a little, but still nervously returned to his previous position.

“Lady Eowyn,” he said, running a hand over his face, which was turned away from her.

“Faramir,” she replied, “I didn’t see you inside, so I asked around. Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright, Eowyn,” he answered, a small hint of being irritated lingered on in his voice.

“Why do you always assume that tone when we talk?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s been a long day, I’m feeling a little tired.”

“Feeling cold as well?”

“Well, yes, as you have so clearly deduced.”

“There you go again. Are you sure you’re alright? You look terrible.”

“The ceremonies have been long.”

“You’re not over-working, are you?”

“Oh Valar,” Faramir rolled his eyes, “I’m perfectly fine!”

“But you seem so frail! Also, you’ve been donning more and more layers today!”

“Ai! What is so hard to comprehend?! Why can’t you just understand that I’M FEELING COLD?!”

There was an awkward silence after that. Eowyn was stunned and Faramir’s head was bent low, eyes closed, eyebrows forming defeated arches and his hands were gripping the railings of the balcony tightly. After what seemed like an eternity, both were released from their paralysis simultaneously.

Faramir exhaled.

“Faramir….” Eowyn started gently.

“Sorry, Lady Eowyn. Like I said, it’s been an exhausting day and I apologize. Good night, My Lady.”

Faramir kept his eyes away from Eowyn’s as he spoke those words of apology. He turned around and quickly walked out of the hall. He blocked all thoughts from running through his head and focused on getting to his rooms as fast as his legs could carry him. Almost as though nothing had happened, he strode through the corridors and opened the door to his room. He shed his heavy robes and stood in front of the mirror in nothing but light breeches. He left his bare chest exposed. When his eyes locked those in the mirror, that surreal daze of peace and calm shattered and everything fell forth at once. The icy cold air hurt his bare skin, his heart thudded in his chest, voices of vice filled his head, panic and dread rampaged the collected thoughts in him. Hate and disgust clutched at the final remnants of his rational reasoning, the mass of healthy flesh on his body soon became a victim of his verbal abuse, those deep, dark shadows under his tired eyes and parched skin were highlighted all too well.

All of this, in those few moments in front of the mirror.

Turning around with his mind blank once more, his confused and dazed eyes saw nothing that could keep him from the darkness that tapped on his shoulder. So, he curled up there on the floor and urged himself to enter the realm of sleep before the misery that lay next to him embraced him. The only other thing he could do was convince himself that he deserved the terrible cold which was painful against his uncovered skin. And so, he did.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything, I make no profits.

The hobbits, dwarves, elves and men of Dale were all represented at the ceremony celebrating ten years of Aragorn’s reign. The day was glorious, the White Tree was in full bloom. Little Eldarion sat on his mother’s lap, quietly looking at the various delegations, absorbing all of the new things in front of him. Faramir found it all a bit dry and boring, but he stayed put and smiled that forced, well-practised smile. Gifts were exchanged, words of mutual admiration were spoken. Sunlight poured into the enclosure, orange and gamboge filling the throne room. Everyone was dressed in their best, but the simple modesty of Aragorn’s character shadowed everyone else. Standing behind the throne, Faramir felt like an all-seeing eye, observing while his presence slowly faded into the shadows.

Then, Eomer and Eowyn approached the King. Faramir’s attention suddenly zoned in on Eowyn’s graceful form, her mature felinity and aged grace clad in an airy sky-blue dress, her golden hair arranged neatly in long locks. Faramir felt himself hold his breath as Eowyn walked closer towards him. He let his breath go when she turned away from him once more, not having paid attention to the greetings and well-wishes that had passed between them. He felt more…awake….after that. His gaze lingered on Eowyn’s form for the rest of the ceremony, full of awe and wonder at her beauty.

The banquet that night was one of the worst times of Faramir’s life. He had socialised with all the guests and now, all he wanted to do was avoid the people in that room. The dancing had started again and this time, everyone joined in. Even Thranduil had taken to the music, and was now led Arwen in a Silvan dance. As soon as the music grew faster and when the people started to look for partners, Faramir quickly backed into the shadows. However, he couldn’t escape one of the ladies and was soon dragged to the centre of the floor. The faces of smiling and laughing friends, the loud music and the slight smell of sweat and the stench of wine seemed to close in on him. As he mechanically moved around the room, barely noticing the slight pressure of a hand at his waist and another in his, he tried to quell the rising pain in his chest. He whirled around, the fervour of the dance further increasing the tightness that was building up inside of him. He desperately tried to stop the tears from rising to his eyes, but they fell all the same. Oh, it hurt. Then, the music stopped and an applause resounded in the chamber. Quickly moving through the crowd of people, he exited the hall and when he escaped the corridors of soldiers, he couldn’t stop himself from breaking into a run to his room.

Eowyn had seen Faramir rush out of the hall after the dance. He hadn’t seemed comfortable or particularly merry that day, but then again, he had been like that ever since she had arrived at Minas Tirith. He seemed dull, it was as though he had lost interest in most things. While physical inactivity and pampering had made him slightly plump, she didn’t think he was particularly healthy either. She was quite worried about him. When she had approached Faramir, he had seemed irritable. She wondered why Aragorn hadn’t noticed it yet.

She was sitting at the long banquet table next to her brother and when Aragorn and Arwen excused themselves to retire for the night. However, before they headed out, Arwen approached Eowyn and whispered into her ear, “Want a drink upstairs?”

Eowyn answered with a chuckle, “As long as it’s not Dorwinian!”

Eowyn, Eomer, Aragorn, Legolas, Arwen and Gimli left the hall and walked up to the balcony in Elessar’s chambers.

Thranduil had retired early as he was to leave the next morning for Eryn Lasgalen. Legolas was to stay behind and spend some more time with friends. Eowyn and Eomer were to leave the week after while the hobbits were to depart with the Elrondion twins.

They settled themselves around the small table as Eowyn looked at the moon in the dark sky, perched on the deep blue carpet dotted with stars. She sighed. After talk about Eldarion’s antics and Eomer’s infatuation with Imrahil’s daughter, Eowyn asked the question that had been on her mind.

“Is Faramir alright? He doesn’t seem too taken by all the celebration.”

Aragorn paled slightly and Arwen sighed.

“We’ve been trying to talk to him about it. We make an attempt to do so but he seems to push us away. I really don’t know what to do. We try again and again, but he seems to get more uncomfortable each time. The last thing we want to do is upset him,” explained Arwen dejectedly.

“The lad pushes himself too hard,” barked Gimli.

Aragorn sighed audibly. 

“I’ve told him to talk to me if his duties are too taxing and I’ve expressed my concern for his well-being repeatedly. As this event started to come nearer, he started having these horrible head-aches and wouldn’t rest. It’s getting tough to see him at ease. I don’t know why he won’t tell us.”

Legolas looked at Arwen pointedly, and then spoke.

“He has some Elvish blood in him and….well…. I can sense …” he looked to Aragorn with sadness in his eyes, “It seems like….he’s fading.”

Legolas turned to look at Faramir’s tired form and back at Arwen. They were seeing off his father at the Palace Gates. Aragorn and Legolas were to ride along with Thranduil to the City Gates. After the send-off, Aragorn and Legolas got on their horses and rode off with the King of Eryn Lasgalen.

“Father, I don’t think I will be able to return to the Kingdom in the next three days as we had planned, but I fear my work here will stretch to the next week.”

Thranduil smiled.

“Well, if that work doesn’t consist of consuming Elessar’s supply of wine, I’ll be ready to make an excuse for your absence at court. But…just this once!”

Legolas smiled gratefully and thanked his father. 

Thranduil raised his eyebrow.

“What work, exactly?”

“Erm…I need to…….help a friend…is all.”

Thranduil smiled, fully aware of what his son was on about.


End file.
